


i'll stop the world and dance with you

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Ballet, M/M, Meet-Cute, Single Parent Derek, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: Stiles Stilinski is a widow and a single father, navigating the world the best he can with his 8-year-old daughter Emilie.Parent's Night at her ballet school is the problem.A rainbow tutu is the solution.





	i'll stop the world and dance with you

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is directly a result of this article: https://www.today.com/parents/superdad-wore-tutu-his-daughter-s-ballet-class-just-make-t119019, which had my ovaries exploding and my fic-brain whirring. I scrapped a completely different idea for this one, and here is the result.
> 
> This is only my 2nd Sterek fic ever, so I would love feedback!!
> 
> Thanks to Sabrina, @stilessolo on Twitter, for the dance help, and the encouragement (as always).
> 
> Thanks to Freck, @literaryoblivion on Twitter, for organizing the 12 Days of Sterek. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it!

 

**********************

”Mr. Stilinski!”

Stiles was walking down the narrow hallway of the ballet studio, dodging bags, moms on their phones, and little legs stretched across the linoleum when he heard the hurried voice trailing after him. He pulled up short, turning to see the school director, Madame Armand, stepping down the hall towards him. The sea of barriers seemed to part when she came through. She was a commanding woman who garnered respect wherever she went, and her dedication to the studio showed with its prestige. Stiles liked her. He smiled warmly at her as she approached.

“Madame Armand, how are you this fine evening?”

“I am doing well, Mr. Stilinski. I’m so happy to catch you before your daughter’s class is over. I wanted to speak to you for just a moment.”

Stiles glanced through the large picture windows where the group of 8-year-olds was doing their final stretches with Miss Peggy before the end of class. He caught the eye of one redhead in particular, gave a little wave and looked at him questioningly. Stiles nodded with a smile and gave her two thumbs up. Her face exploded into a smile, and she immediately leaned over to the black-haired girl next to her, talking animatedly. He smiled broadly and turned his attention back to Madame Armand, who led him to an adjacent, empty studio. Stiles tried to quell the concern that began racing through him—Madame Armand rarely called private meetings—was everything okay?

When they were alone in the room, Stiles broke the silence. “I’ll admit, Madame, you’re making me a bit nervous.”

“Oh, I apologize for the worry. I just didn’t want to bring this up in the crowded hallway.” Madame’s voice was friendly, and Stiles eased a bit. “Emilie looked a little distressed today at the beginning of class when we were discussing the upcoming Parent’s Night. I made the assumption that it was because of your late wife, and wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help?”

At the mention of Lydia, Stiles’ chest tightened a bit. It was coming up on three years exactly since the accident, and it hurt a lot less than it had in the past, but the anniversaries always made the wound feel raw.

“Thank you, Madame. She mentioned the Parent’s Night to me a few weeks ago. Last year a friend filled in, but she isn't available this time. Emilie was concerned that no one would be there to dance with her, but I promised her that I’d take the night off to do it. I just let her know that I could make it.”

Madame beamed. “Excellent. It’s unusual to have fathers participate, but not unheard of. We will be pleased to have you.”

“Thanks.”

“You will be expected to participate like the other parents, of course.” Madame eyed him pointedly. Stiles shifted under her gaze—this attitude is exactly how she came to run the top ballet school on the west coast—he cleared his throat and nodded in understanding.

“Of course.”

Madame nodded in return, and swept out of the classroom, leaving Stiles slightly nervous in her wake. _Participate like the other parents_. Of course, in their case, it’s not really “parents”, just “moms”. And by “participating”, she means in a slightly more mortifying manner attire-wise than it will be for anyone else.

Stiles shook his head. He’d be damned if he was going to sit it out just because he was a little embarrassed about his clothes. Emilie didn’t deserve that, and he wouldn’t be the one to make her feel left out.

He followed Madame from the room, watching as the legs once again parted for her to walk through. Stiles followed moments later, noticing that they didn’t extend the same courtesy to him.

Eyes on the ground, he was just stepping around his fourth pair of tiny legs, making sure that he didn’t trip—easier said than done, in his case—when another call to his name made him shudder to a stop.

“ _Mister_ Stilinski.”

At the sneering, unmistakable tone, Stiles audibly groaned. Usually he didn’t mind the sound of his name. But whenever _she_ said it, it was like nails on a chalkboard. He looked up to see a beautiful woman seated just ahead, staring back at him with cold, calculating eyes.

“Ms. Blake,” he spat back.

She stood, stalking down the hallway towards him. He noticed that _she_ didn’t have trouble dodging the obstacles in her path—probably because the legs in the way immediately pulled away out of fear. Damn it. He’d love to see her fall in her heels and mess up her stupidly-perfect manicure.

To many of the moms at the studio, Jennifer Blake walked on water. She was gorgeous, her perfect hair and makeup always in place. She was fit and toned, her body the envy of the other moms who blamed “a lack of time” on their physiques. She had a modestly successful real estate business, and she was _extremely_ invested in her daughter’s ballet career: a driven and supportive mom, some would say—a fucking crazy dance mom freak, if you asked Stiles. She organized the school’s annual fundraiser and was extremely successful at it, and she acted as if it afforded her power over everyone else. It was a freaking dance school fundraiser, not the Federal Budget, for god’s sake—but good luck telling _her_ that.

The other moms worshipped the ground she walked on, but to Stiles, she was just...well, she was just _evil_ . Stiles’ best friend Scott rolled his eyes whenever he ranted about her, saying something about _she’s nice,_ and _I think you’re over-exaggerating_ , but Stiles swore up and down that she had it out for him in the worst way. Anyways, Scott is a puppy dog. He can’t be relied upon to be a fair judge of character.

At one point in the not-so-distant past, when Stiles had started bringing Emilie to this studio, Jennifer had actually been nice to Stiles. Their daughters were in the same class, so they saw each other often. But one day she had aggressively come on to him, and Stiles had rebuffed her as gently as possible. After that, her claws and fangs had come out. If it hadn’t been for Madame Armand, he was sure that Jennifer would have killed him by now.

Well, not _literally_. But sometimes he thinks she really could be capable of it.

It’s the eyes, man. They’re dead inside.

Jennifer slowed to a stop when she was uncomfortably close to Stiles. He resisted the urge to run away or shrink back from her—he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She smiled at him—more of a leer, if he’s honest—her teeth just a little more pointed than is absolutely natural. ( _It’s how she chews her victims to pieces_.) He didn’t fail to notice that the smile she flashed at him didn’t quite meet her eyes. He knew that if they weren’t in the studio hallway, with other students and parents milling about, then the friendly tone she had adopted would be absent. Her voice was low, keeping her words between them as much as possible.

“Cuddling up to Madame Armand in a private room, are we? What a scandal that would cause if a rumor got started.”

Stiles scoffed. “I’m not even going to justify that shit with a response.”

Jennifer _tsk-tsk_ ed, the mocking noise grating to Stiles’ ears. “ _Language_ , Mr. Stilinski. What would your daughter think, hearing you talk like that?”

“Well, I don’t coddle and over-protect her, so I’m sure she’d be fine.” Jennifer’s eyebrows skyrocketed at his words. “In fact, it’d be another dollar in her swear jar, so she’d probably encourage it.”

Jennifer was about to respond. Her mouth was open and her eyes were shooting darts at him. But before she could, Stiles’ attention was drawn by the squeeze on his hand. He looked down to see his own Bambi-like eyes mirrored in the eyes that looked back up at him.

“Hiya, squirt.” She tugged on his hand until he got the hint and bent down, his ear next to her mouth as she cupped her hand and whispered.

“Be nice, Dad.”

“I’m always nice!” he whispered back.

To her credit, Emilie didn’t laugh. She just gave him a look that was an exact replica of the “ _Yeah right, Stiles”_ look that Lydia used to give him with frequency. He sighed. Emilie was the best parts of both he and Lydia, and even though the memory of her absence still stung, at least he got a beautiful reminder of their time together. God bless genetics.

“Hi, Mr. Stiles!” Another little girl bounded up to where the three of them were standing in the middle of the hallway, her black hair pulled tight into a bun that matched Emilie’s.

“Hi, Juliet,” Stiles smiled at her, extending his free hand out in front of him in a fist. Juliet grinned and gave him a fist bump, and the two of them made a _pssshhhhh_ sound together, trailing their hands apart and twiddling their fingers. Stiles feels a sick satisfaction at the constipated look on Jennifer’s face. She may be a bitch, but her daughter has thankfully not inherited any of it. Juliet’s awesome, and one of Emilie’s best friends in the class. She must get her cool factor from her dad, whom Stiles has never met. Jennifer complains about her ex all the time, so Stiles naturally assumes that if he annoys her _that much_ , he must be great. He’s probably more normal than Jennifer, at the very least. After all, “normal” and “Jennifer Blake” can’t be uttered in the same sentence or the world will explode.

“Emilie said you’re going to dance with us at Parent’s Night!”

“Yep! Sure am! I just found out I got off work at the station!”

“ _So_ cool. We’ve never had a dad dance with us!”

Jennifer’s pointed cough interrupts the conversation. “Yes, I’m sure all the other moms are looking forward to seeing _those_ chicken legs in tights. Time to go, Juliet.”

“Aww, mom! Can’t I stay and talk with Emilie?”

“No,” she says. “Your father asked me to have you back on time tonight. We need to get going.”

“Oh yeah—he and I are camping in the family room tonight! Yay!” Juliet’s entire body perks up at the news, and Stiles notices Jennifer’s eye roll. He doesn’t know the whole story, but he knows that Jennifer only has one day a week visitation rights to Juliet, the rest of the week she stays with her dad—probably the main contributing factor to Juliet's awesomeness. “Okay! Bye, Mr. Stiles. Bye, Emilie.”

Emilie lets go of Stiles’ hand, and gives Juliet a hug. “Bye, Juliet! See you next week!”

Stiles resists sticking his tongue out at Jennifer as she gives him a glare and turns towards the parking lot, leaving Stiles and Emilie behind. Stiles does smile when he overhears Juliet’s excited voice as she bounces down the hallway.

“Did you hear that, Mom? Mr. Stiles is gonna dance with us! _He’s so cool!_ ”

Stiles turns his attention back to Emilie, raising his eyebrows to stare at her pointedly.

“You didn’t tell _her_ to be nice,” Stiles pouts. Then, under his breath, “Chicken legs, my ass.”

Emilie shrugged. “She’s a lost cause. You can be the better man. And you owe me another dollar, potty mouth.”

Stiles stifled a laugh. Emilie may be 8, but there was no way that the child of Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin would come out without extreme intelligence and an inability to put up with his bullshit. She kept him on his toes, and he loved her for it.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll pay you in the car. So, how did Juliet end up so cool?”

“Her dad is awesome.”

“So you keep telling me.” Stiles chose to ignore the eyebrow waggling that Emilie was shooting his way. Emilie and Juliet had become instant friends in their class. Stiles wished that they could spend time together more outside of class—but he wasn’t about to let Jennifer sink her teeth into his daughter. But the two girls, even with their limited interactions in class, had proved to be a lethal combination. Emilie had met Juliet’s dad once after class—Stiles had been working late and had missed meeting him—and the two girls had been trying to play mini-matchmakers between their two dads ever since. To Stiles, this just proved (yet again) that he should never have let Emilie watch that Lindsay Lohan Parent Trap movie. 8-year-olds were scheming enough without the fantasy of movies filling their heads with nonsense like parent love-matching. Nor should he have let it slip during a very nerve-wracking sexuality talk with his overly-intelligent and aware daughter that bisexuality was perfectly valid and did she know that he had dated a couple of guys in college before getting together with her mom?

Thankfully, Stiles hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Juliet’s dad. Or maybe not thankfully, since it meant he always had to deal with Jennifer? But Stiles was sure that news of the girls’ schemings had to have reached his ears by this point, and the last thing that Stiles wanted was an awkward meetup. The whole thing was embarrassing enough. Stiles could take care of his own matchmaking—nevermind that he hadn’t had any interest since Lydia passed. But it had been almost three years, and he thought he might be ready to try the scene. But it wasn’t lost on him that he came with some serious baggage—a widower _and_ an 8-year old? Emilie’s incredible, but most people his age weren’t looking for an insta-family.

Stiles shook himself out of his thoughts. “Ready to go, squirt?”

“Yep!”

Emilie threaded her petite hand through his long fingers, and he was yet again thankful that she was as tactile in her affection as he was—and that she hadn’t outgrown it yet. She still thought he hung the moon, and—until the terror that is junior high turned her against him—Stiles was going to do everything in his power to keep her believing it for as long as possible.

Plus, if he was honest with himself, he was 100% wrapped around her little finger, too.

They swung their hands, Stiles reveling in the giggle that Emilie couldn’t contain as they made their way to the car.

He opened the door for her, and as she climbed in the back seat, she turned to look at him with concern.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, squirt?”

“Are you really okay doing Parent’s Night with me?”

Stiles’ heart broke a little at the vulnerability he heard in her voice. “Look, we talked about this. I’m excited to join you in the class.”

Emilie’s eyebrow raised, unconvinced. Stiles pressed on.

“I know that Aunt Kira did it last time, but she’s too pregnant this year, and Madame Armand said I could join in. Are...are _you_ okay with me joining you?”

Emilie’s hands reached out to rest on either side of Stiles’ face, and she pulled him in close. She rubbed her nose back and forth against his own, causing a smile to break out on his face. He’d been doing that to her ever since she was a baby and she would grab onto the end of his nose with her chubby little fingers. Now she did it whenever she wanted to reassure him. He swore it was the cutest thing in the entire world, and it really did work. It always took his doubts away.

“I’m _so_ excited. No one else’s dad is gonna do it. You’re going to be the only boy!”

He grinned. “Yes I am.”

“ _And_ you’ll be wearing the rainbow tutu. Let’s bust down the walls of gender normativity together, Dad.”

The laughter burst out of Stiles. “That’s my girl.”

He settled himself in the driver’s seat, and looked in the rear-view mirror, smiling at the sight. _She’s getting so big_ , he thought as he watched her seatbelt herself in and adjust her bag next to her booster seat. They both had to do a lot of growing-up and changing in the last three years. It hadn’t always been easy—in fact, most of the time it had been hard—but they seemed to have come out on the other side relatively unscathed. They helped put the patches on each other’s torn hearts over time. Having Emilie start ballet—like Lydia had done—was a big step on that road to recovery. Emilie had taken to it like a fish to water, and Stiles loved to think of Lydia looking down on her and smiling.

“Dad, don’t get all weepy on me. You know you can’t drive very well with tears in your eyes.”

He blinked himself out of his trance to see her looking at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Yes, ma’am. Ice cream?”

Emilie’s smile lit up the back seat. She pointed forward, commanding her chariot. “Onward to ice cream!”

The week leading up to the Parents Night seemed to fly by, and before Stiles knew it, he was sitting in the car outside of Madame Armand’s studio again, his knees bouncing erratically, his fingernails worn to nubs between his teeth. He was eyeing the other moms escorting their girls in through the front door, their hair piled high atop their heads, their bodies stuffed into various shades of leotards and yoga pants.

Stiles looked down at his own attire. He was wearing a black Under Armour shirt that showed off his deputy physique quite nicely (Parrish had helped him out with that one), as well as the slimmest black workout pants that he owned. The pièce de résistance, though, was the rainbow tutu he was wearing. It was part of a My Little Pony Rainbow Dash costume that Lydia had constructed for a work party a long time ago, which had been stuffed in the dress-up box ever since, and it managed to fit him without much effort. He knew it would fit because he had been using it to become “Rainbow Dragon” to battle with “The Lady Emilie of the Knight Battalion” more than a handful of times over the last few years. He knew he looked fairly ridiculous. Which really, he wasn’t that unaccustomed to. It was the “being ridiculous in front of Jennifer Blake” that he wasn’t used to. He could handle her barbs and jabs when she picked up Juliet, mostly because they’re contained by the decorum of the studio hallways. But Stiles was pretty sure that she wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on her opinions once she saw him in this, and he didn’t want it to affect Emilie at all. He wouldn’t be able to keep his attitude in check if she ended up in the middle of an insult war.

“You look great,” Emilie piped up from the back seat.

“Thanks, squirt. Ready to go?”

“Yep!”

“Okay, hold on a sec.”

Emilie looked at him confused, as he tapped a couple of times on his phone, and the car was suddenly filled with the sound of C+C Music Factory. His eyes snapped up to catch hers in the mirror, and he sang out loud with the music.

“ _Everybody dance now!”_

While Stiles busted a couple of (incredible and amazing, _thankyouverymuch_ ) dance moves in the front seat, Emilie rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been setting that up all week, haven’t you, Dad?”

“Yep!” He winked at her and unbuckled his seatbelt, meeting her around the outside of the car as the music accompanied them into the studio, the two of them laughing together the whole way. Once they entered the studio doors, he shut off the music (Madame Armand would _not_ be impressed with the vocal stylings of C+C) and tried to ignore the giggles and whispers that followed him down the hall. The operative word was _trying_ , because it felt like they got louder and louder the closer they got to Miss Peggy’s classroom. And although he really was fine with going to the class, and he really was fine with dressing up, he really _really_ couldn’t handle the whispers from Jennifer Blake.

By the time they entered the classroom, Stiles’ head was down and his skin was surely mottled with the red splotches that appeared whenever he was overwhelmed. Emilie, thankfully, seemed oblivious, and bounced towards the barre on the far right of the room. Stiles, with his head down, could see that they were almost the last ones in class, and he purposely moved Emilie so that they were all the way on the end of the barre, and he faced her with his back to the others in the room. Thankfully, it seemed that in here, most of the moms cooed in delight at the sight of the 8-year-old escorting her reluctant father along in a tutu.

When he looked up, all he could see was a blank wall and Emilie, which was just fine by him. He felt his body relax as he deposited his own bag and shoes on the side of the classroom, thrown haphazardly on top of Emilie’s things. She looked up at him with a smile, and his answering smile helped to leech the last of his embarrassment from his mind. _This is all about her. Make it count._ He threw on a goofy smile as he matched Emilie’s stance at the barre, doing his best to turn his toes out and lay his left hand as gently on the barre as her right hand appeared to be.

Of course, she was swan-like in her grace—one of the many traits she’d inherited from her mother—and Stiles was as graceful as a one-legged fish. But he was a good mimic, and he was going to try his best for her. He figured, after the initial shock of a) the _man_ in the class, and b) the man in the _rainbow tutu_ , the best way for him to avoid undue attention was to do the moves as fluidly as possible. You know, to actually be _kinda_ _good_. As Emilie flowed easily into first position, stretching her upper body in the process, and he attempted to mirror her, he realized quickly: _This is going to be a challenge._ Stiles grimaced at the way his hips ached with the strain already. He stretched his upper body while trying to turn his toes out as wide as they would go. It sounded simple enough, but nothing about what they were doing would ever be described as _simple_.

Emilie, for her part, was absolutely beaming. She flowed comfortably into second position, and leaned past him to her left, waving and whispering, “Hi Juliet!” and waggling her eyebrows, the way that the two of them always did. Stiles had to concentrate extra hard to not flail his way out of first position when he heard the name. Juliet was standing right behind him—which only meant one thing: _Jennifer_ was right behind him. She’d surely seen him by now—she was probably plotting how to eviscerate him with her mind. There was no way on God’s green Earth that Stiles was going to turn around now.

A couple of moments later, Miss Peggy called the class to attention. Emilie relaxed her stance and looked at her teacher adoringly.

Even as Miss Peggy welcomed everyone, Stiles refused to turn around, preferring to avoid contact with Jennifer for as long as humanly possible. It was juvenile, yes, but Stiles never said he wasn’t. He attempted to give Miss Peggy his attention, all the while not looking in her direction. It wasn’t going well.

“Everyone, please align your bodies into first position, with your hand on the barre.”

Emilie looked at him, nodding her head to indicate he needed to turn around. But Stiles whispered back, “She didn’t say _right_ hand on the barre, so technically I’m still good!”  Emilie just rolled her eyes in response.

Soon, however, Miss Peggy’s voice rang out from a much closer spot on his right. “Dad, will you please turn around so you can participate in the class?”

Stiles sighed, knowing he was going to have to finally face the music. The ‘music’ being Jennifer in all of her bitchy glory. He wished he had some snarky retort ready, but he just resigned himself to weeks and weeks of torture about his chicken legs and his spindly arms. Not that he was ashamed of them—he had a lean physique that had served him well on the force—there was _muscle_ there, which Parrish his partner would attest to—but getting shamed for them repeatedly wasn’t going to be fun. _It’s for Emilie. Do it for her._

He turned slowly, giving Miss Peggy a smile as he does so, but braced himself for the inevitable as he faced the rest of the room.

“Of course, Miss Peggy. Wouldn’t want to— _whoa_.”

Every single thought was wiped clean from Stiles’ face when he turned around. There was a class there, yes. They were mostly turning their heads to see what the hold up was, yes. But Stiles’ eyes blurred all of that out, and zeroed in to the sight immediately in front of him.

He expected Jennifer. Her cold eyes, her perfect physique, her judging aura wafting off of her like perfume.

Instead, he came face-to-face with the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life. Granted, he was given to hyperbole on the occasion, so perhaps others would argue the point with him, saying he was just exaggerating again. But from the looks around the room, not a single person in this entire studio would argue with it.

The man in front of him was...well, in a word, he was _perfect_ . He couldn’t be more of a contrast in body type. Stiles was willowy and lean, while the other man was pure muscle. Not overly so, but he-could-probably-pick-me-up-bridal-style-without-blinking-an-eye muscular. The sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing was doing nothing to hide it. In fact, it was just emphasizing the lines between his shoulders and his biceps and his forearms— _oh, god, his forearms_ . Stiles wanted to run his hands through the mat of dark hair he saw on them. His tight-fitting tee was leaving absolutely nothing to Stiles’ imagination, and he had it on good authority that his imagination was _wild_. The shirt was stretched tight across the man’s chest, and tapered down to his narrow waist.

_He’s shaped like a Dorito. Mmm mmm mmm._

The black athletic pants he was wearing were stretched tight across his thighs, and Stiles’ mouth began to water. The icing on the most delicious-looking cake he had ever seen was sitting around Hot Guy’s waist: a black tutu. _Holy fuck. He’s a guy. And he’s in a tutu._

Stiles caught himself in the middle of a perfectly shameless Up-Down, and he chastised himself for the blatant objectification and forced himself to look at Hot Guy’s face. And _oh God, wasn’t that just the best idea he’s ever had?_ The guy was...well, it was a good thing he got a good look at the guy’s body to start with, because after finally getting a look at the guy’s face, Stiles never wanted to look anywhere else ever again. Or maybe he could figure out a way to look everywhere at once? Could that be a thing? Because this guy was what they would call a Total Package Deal.

His skin was smooth, with just a hint or two of lines forming around his eyes. His jaw was covered with short stubble, which Stiles had always thought was just delicious on a man, probably because he himself couldn’t make it work. The guy—okay, he would just go with _Hot Guy_ from now on because it was just ridiculous at this point—had his eyebrows slightly scrunched, and damn if it wasn’t one of the most adorable thing Stiles had ever seen? Strong, A+ eyebrow game. He looked adorably flummoxed.

Unbelievably, Stiles noticed the other guy checking him out in the exact same way—their responses mirrored each other’s perfectly. When Stiles forced his gaze to Hot Guy’s eyes, locking together a fraction of a second later, Stiles couldn’t help the gasp that came out of his mouth—a gasp that was also mirrored by Hot Guy. Stiles was completely mesmerized by his eyes. _Holy shit, what color is that?_ Stiles wanted to stare in those eyes all afternoon, trying to figure out a perfect name for the amalgamated colors he saw there.

Stiles didn’t know how long he stared. He only knew that Hot Guy stared right back. And the longer it went on, the more Stiles felt like his pounding heartbeat could surely be heard outside of his body, because it was positively _slamming_ in his eardrums right now.

The moment was unfortunately broken when Miss Peggy chuckled and calls out, “Not you, Mr. Hale.” Hot Guy’s eyebrows raised in surprise, as he seemed to suddenly realize his mistake. He turned around quickly, a nervous chuckle coming from him as he looked to Miss Peggy. She nodded and looked at Stiles. “Thank you, Mr. Stilinski. Shall we begin, class?”

Stiles nodded quickly, then turned his head back to Emilie, who was giving him a knowing look. He mouthed to her, _That’s Juliet’s dad?!?_ She nodded with a smirk, and Stiles tried not to register his shock. He was sure he failed. His attention was drawn forward by Juliet’s loud whisper.

“Yes, that’s Emilie’s dad! I _told_ you he was cute.”

As the music began, there was a giggle from Juliet and a matching one from Emilie, and Stiles couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his own face, as well. At that moment, Stiles looked up at the back of Hot Guy’s head, and noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. _Oh, he’s embarrassed!_ Stiles nearly squealed at the cuteness factor.

Miss Peggy had turned back to the rest of the class and begun giving instructions, to which Stiles flailed slightly before attempting to follow. His eyes tracked her as she demonstrated, but he found that it was actually easier to imitate Emilie when he was facing her. Now he didn’t have that, he just had Hot Guy in front of him. Which, _thank fuck for that._ Now Stiles got to fully ogle his back side now. Those shoulders and that back and that ass. There must have been some kind of karmic repayment happening right now. He didn’t know what he did to deserve this reward, but he was going to do his darn best to keep doing it so that this never had to stop, because this view of that ass in that tutu?

 _Damn_.

Stiles once again caught himself in his own ogling. _Okay, Stiles. Get a grip. You’re in Emilie’s ballet class, not the bar on Saturday night—not that you’ve actually gone to a bar on a Saturday night once in the last three years, but that’s besides the point. Also, heh, you’re at the_ barre _. Get it? Okay, no one is listening to this inner monologue but you. Get it together. This is not a place to lose your head. Plus, now you get to attempt to not make an idiot of yourself with the World’s Most Beautiful Man standing less than 10 feet away._

_Oh, God. I’m going to look like such an idiot._

Miss Peggy led the class through some simple steps. First position, raise your arms, work on your turn-out, hand lightly on the barre please. She walked around the room, doing minor corrections, but mostly encouraging and smiling. There was lots of giggling, mostly from the students, some from the other moms in the class. Stiles did his best to relax as the class continued, but he couldn’t help the anxiety that ramped up as he realized: now he wanted to do well. Not just for Emilie, but to _impress Mr. Hale_. Oh, jeez.

I mean, the guy was hot. It had already been established. And Stiles knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed, because the guy was getting not-so-subtle stares from the other moms in the class, too. But what really attracted Stiles the longer the class progressed, was how Juliet just worshipped him. The looks that she gave him when she turned around or helped him with his turnout ( _seriously, how do they expect our feet to just_ do _that?_ ) were enough to have Stiles melting into a puddle of goo.

Jennifer had painted this guy as satan’s spawn. But there was no way that could possibly be the case. Juliet wouldn’t be looking at him that way if he was a bad guy. She wouldn’t be taking him by the hand and leading him through the exercises if he was a bad guy. To top it off, he was treating Juliet like the absolute best thing ever. He teased her and made her giggle and tickled her when Miss Peggy wasn’t looking so that she’d fall out of her step and he’d chuckle, and it was just the most endearing thing Stiles had ever seen. Of course, Jennifer herself had proven to be an evil henchwoman, so this just further proved that her opinion couldn’t be trusted. How in the world had that guy ended up with _her_? Stiles just wanted to know everything.

“Parents, please line up with your daughters on this side of the room, we will do a series of movements one pair at a time.”

Emilie grabbed his hand and pulled him along, and he managed not to trip over his own feet—a minor miracle—as he walked past Juliet and Hot Guy—er, Mr. Hale.

Okay, he really needed to get a first name here.

Emilie pulled him along, skipping across the room to take their place in line. She grinned at him as they found a spot, then turned to him and pointed.

“This is it...”

Stiles grinned and pointed back at her. “...Don’t get scared now.”

He heard a chuckle behind him and saw Mr. Hale standing behind them, a smile breaking out on his face.

_Oh, god. He has a dimple, too??_

Miss Peggy directed them all to do ‘a sauté arabesque into a sauté passé combo’, which made Stiles’ mouth go dry until he watched the first girl demonstrate. _Oh, it’s a jump with your arms out. Whew. I don’t think I can screw it up that badly._ He and Emilie were about the 6th pair in line, so he watched the other pairs with interest, noting that none of the moms were professional ballerinas by any stretch of the imagination, so his flailing would hopefully go mostly unnoticed.

A throat-clearing behind him gathered his attention, and he turned to see Hot Guy right behind him. “ _Home Alone_?”

Stiles tried not to swallow his own tongue as he turned and struggled with his voice to reply.  “Uh, yeah. It’s one of our favorites.”

“Good choice. We’re _Elf_ people.”

Stiles managed a smile. “That’s a classic, too. ‘You sit on a throne of lies…’ I had to keep Emilie from saying that to the mall Santa a couple of times.”

Another chuckle from Mr. Hale. _I could get used to making him laugh_. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Derek, by the way. Juliet’s dad.”

“Er, yeah. I’m Stiles. Emilie’s my spawn.” Their handshake was firm and probably held a little longer than was socially acceptable, but neither one of them appeared to be in a hurry to break it. Unfortunately, Stiles had to let go first, because it was almost their turn.  “Gotta go jump now.”

Derek took a haughty tone. “It’s a sauté arabesque, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles burst into loud laughter, which earned him a frown from Miss Peggy. He gave her an apologetic look before following Emilie’s lead.

To his credit, he didn’t think he made an outright idiot of himself. It was actually kind of fun to let himself go a bit and just have a good time. And the look that Emilie gave him when she saw his jump was worth every single bit of embarrassment.

“Dad, that was awesome! You didn’t fall!”

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Thanks for the confidence, squirt.”

Besides giving each other looks throughout the class—Emilie and Juliet becoming gigglier and gigglier each time—there wasn’t another chance to interact with Derek. Miss Peggy kept them busy with one sauté arabesque after another, adding in a glissade, moving on to piqué turns where Stiles really had to concentrate because spinning and moving together could prove a problem with his big feet. They ended with another sauté arabesque, and when Miss Peggy complimented him on his arm positioning, Stiles really felt like he could crow with pride. Emilie’s look of joy didn’t hurt, either.

Though they didn’t get a chance to interact, Stiles loved watching Derek dance. He wasn’t graceful, really. Like, at all. But he had a steadiness about him that was impressive for a guy built the way he was. It’s what Stiles imagined a football player taking ballet would look like. He may not have had the lightness on his feet, but you could tell he had complete control over his body. Stiles was impressed. The guy was 100 percent committed. His initial shyness over being seen in the tutu seemed to have faded, and he went all-in to the class, which was just...well, it was a kind of easy confidence that Stiles had never had but always admired. Stiles had to work hard to be even remotely cool—and often he missed the mark completely. He didn’t feel like Derek had that trouble. The guy exuded cool.

All too soon, the class was over, and the group stood in a circle, applauding each other and ‘their effort and their focus’, according to Miss Peggy.

Stiles’ heartbeat ramped up again as Emilie and Juliet gravitated towards each other at the end of class, giggling and chatting together as they gathered their bags. Stiles shuffled towards his own bag, feeling much like he was back in middle school again, awkward and uncoordinated. Now that the class was over, he was fully aware again that he was a grown-ass man in a rainbow tutu and skin-tight clothing, standing in close proximity to a guy that he could be seriously interested in—the first person, in a very long time, that he could admit that about.

No pressure.

“Hey,” Stiles heard the soft voice from over his shoulder. He turned to see Derek standing there, bag in hand, with a shy look that made Stiles’ heart do flip-flops. “Great work out there. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Stiles let out a short laugh. “Yeah, it was. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t fall on my butt. I’m known to do that from time to time.”

“I think it was the tutu.”

Stiles looked down, suddenly reminded of the rainbow around his waist. Amazingly, he had forgotten about it. “This tutu has gotten me through some pretty tough times. Makes sense that it’d choose to protect me from embarrassment tonight. Yours is pretty good, too.”

“Mine isn’t as valiant as yours. But when your daughter insists…”

“...how do you say no?” Stiles finished. They smiled at the shared moment, and Stiles about fell over at the return of Derek’s dimple. It was just _so_ darn cute.

“You looked really graceful out there.”

Stiles _really_ couldn’t hold back his burst of laughter at that. “Dude. Literally no one has ever called me graceful in my entire life. I’m usually compared to a newborn giraffe.”

“I’m going to guess you probably played sports, though,” Derek said. “You might be clumsy, but you’re still pretty coordinated.”

“Eh, I played lacrosse in high school.” Stiles tried to downplay his involvement. He also tried to downplay his excitement in the thought that maybe Derek had actually been taking note of his movements in class? He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his chill.

“I played lacrosse, too!”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “No way! That’s a crazy coincidence. Lacrosse is such a niche sport. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone outside of my own teammates that have played.”

“Yeah, it was the sport to play at my high school.”

“The difference between you and me is that you probably actually _played_ , whereas I practiced with the team every day but rode the bench and provided biting color commentary for my fellow benchmates.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Derek countered.

“I assure you, my athletic career never made it past the fields of my own high school. But you’re right. It did give me enough coordination to help out in my police training.”

“Oh, yeah. Juliet told me you were a cop.”

“Taking after my old man. He was the sheriff growing up—”

A loud cough interrupted their chat. “Excuse me, Mr. Hale? Mr. Stilinski?”

Both men looked over and blinked in surprise to find the room empty, save for Madame Armand, who stood at the door expectantly.

“I am ready to close the studio. Would you please take your conversation outside?”

Stiles looked at Derek, the surprise that he felt mirrored on Derek’s face. How was it possible that they didn’t even notice that everyone else had left already? They both looked around the room, and Stiles’ eyes raised in alarm as he realized— _where is Emilie?_ He saw a similar look in Derek’s eyes.

Madame Armand seemed to notice their distress. “Your children are waiting out here for you.”

Stiles’ eyes drifted to the window, where he saw a pair of 8-year-old eyes trained on them, full smiles on both of their faces. When Stiles caught Emilie’s eyes, she immediately whispered in Juliet’s ear, and the two of them burst into giggles.

“Apparently we have an audience,” Stiles observed.

“I have felt that way every single day since becoming a parent,” Derek agreed.

Smiling, they walked to the door of the classroom together. As they walked by Madame Armand, she smiled at them knowingly.

“Thank you, gentlemen. I’m happy to see that you two have finally been able to meet. It’s important for our single dads to have each other for support. Mr. Hale, I appreciate your attendance when Ms. Blake was unable to participate.”

“It hurt her to miss, but I was glad to be able to come to class for a change. Jennifer doesn’t like me to interfere with Juliet’s dancing.”

“You were an asset this evening.” Madame Armand assured him. She nodded at the two of them. “Thank you both for supporting your daughters. I could tell they were delighted to dance with you.”

She locked the door behind them, then swept down the hallway, little feet and bags parting the ways for her as she did.

“How does she do that?” Stiles asked in wonder. “I try to walk down that hallway, and I nearly brain myself getting tangled up with pointe shoe ribbons.”

“Well, this will be my first time doing it,” Derek replied. “Maybe we’ll have better luck if we navigate it together.”

 _Are you talking about life? Because I’m pretty sure I could_ so _be on board with navigating life with you._

Stiles shook himself out of his thoughts, harder said than done because his thoughts could get pretty runaway train-like in nature, so instead he looked over at Emilie.

“Ready, squirt?”

“Yep!”

Stiles held out his hand and Emilie grabbed on, swinging their linked fingers between them as they navigated the busy, end-of-class bustle through the hallway together. Amazingly, Stiles didn’t trip once. Small blessings.

At the end of the hallway, Emilie stopped and Stiles could feel her gaze up at him. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we invite Juliet and Mr. Hale to go to ice cream with us?”

Stiles looked back at Emilie, who was looking at him expectantly. Suddenly, Stiles realized that this...this could be...A Moment. One of those things he could catalog and return to later as a starting point to...something. He could say no to Emilie, which would really be a no to Derek, and he and Emilie could continue their lives together just as they had been. Managing their pain, managing their reality, making it through, but just slightly less fulfilled than he felt they could be. Or should be.

Or.

Or, he could say yes. And by saying yes, he submitted to the possibility of _more_ . But—there were so many buts!—he was also opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. And it wasn’t just him anymore. It wasn’t just his own feelings. It was the feelings of the most important person that would ever be in his life. It was his daughter. And it wasn’t just Derek, either. It was Derek _and_ . _And_ his daughter. _And_ his ex ( _shudder_ ). This had to be someone that not only _he_ said yes to, but someone that _Emilie_ said yes to. Looking down at her, he already saw her answer. Now it was up to him.

Stiles looked down the hall just in time to see Derek hoist Juliet into a piggyback carry and then gracefully and quickly step and side-step down the hallway around the obstacles. He was flushed and Juliet was laughing hysterically by the time they reached the end.

 _Damn. That’s a good dad right there_.

“Made it!” Derek exclaimed happily.

“High five, Daddy-O!” Derek shifted her weight to one of his arms— _ahem hello biceps, my old friends_ —and reached the other hand across his body so Juliet could land a solid smack with her hand.

“Dad?” Stiles hears Emilie ask again.

Stiles clears his throat and looked down at her. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s do it.”

He turned his attention to Derek. “So, we have a tradition of going to get ice cream after rehearsal.”

“Ice cream after ballet?”

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, we like to keep a balance. Plus, I just love Rocky Road.”

Derek smiled, and Juliet squealed, “I love Rocky Road!”

“Yeah, you do!” Stiles raised his fist up to Juliet, who pounded it back with the _pssssshhhh_ sound they usually do.

“Umm...do you have a secret handshake with my kid?”

Stiles’ eyes widened. _Oh, shit. Is he mad?_  “Umm...yeah?” Stiles inwardly cringed, waiting for the hammer to drop.

Derek’s eyes crinkled around his smile. “That’s amazing.”

“So, do you want to join us? For ice cream, I mean.”

Juliet bounced on Derek’s back. “Ooh, yeah! Can we Dad? Can we?”

Derek looked carefully into Stiles’ eyes, and Stiles was captured, yet again, by the beauty he found there. But now, it wasn’t just the beauty in his actual eyes—though, of course, that was still there. It was the knowledge that underneath those eyes was a good person who loved his kid and had a kind heart. More could be made out of less than that—but Stiles had a feeling that in this case, only more could be made out of more.

Derek seemed to be considering his answer, and Stiles’ anxiety ramped up a bit. _I’m on board with this—but what if my awkward flailing and my inability to control the words that come out of my mouth have turned him off? What if he’s looking for a subtle way to turn me down? What if I read this all wrong?_

_Oh, god._

“We’d love to.”

Stiles exhaled audibly, and Emilie and Juliet squealed with excitement. The girls raced ahead, eager to get going, and Stiles and Derek followed behind, noticing that they parked next to each other.

“Whoa, _dude_ . You drive a _Camaro_?” Stiles eyed the sleek black automobile with open envy. He also wanted to melt into the pavement when he compared it to the used minivan that he drove.

Derek flushed a bit. “Yeah, but not all the time. It’s a little ostentatious. My dad loved muscle cars, and he passed the love on to me. I take her out for a spin every once in awhile.”

“It’s fucking awesome.”

“Dad!”

Stiles sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced a dollar out of his wallet. He handed it to Emilie with a faux-scowl, growling at her, “It’s true, though.” She happily snatched the bill from his hands, shoved it into her pocket and climbed with Juliet into the back of the van. Stiles turned back to Derek. “Don’t look too closely at my ‘I used to be cool’ van.”

Derek immediately shook his head. “No way, dude. I totally drive a minivan most of the time. They’re reliable, ridiculously safe, and not to mention, they hold so much stuff!”

Stiles burst into laughter. The image he conjured in his head of Derek sitting behind the wheel of a minivan was just too much.

“Do you want to ride together?” Derek asked shyly. “The ice cream place isn’t that far away, and we can just drop you off back here when we’re done. That way we can talk some more.” Derek dropped his gaze to the ground, his ears adorably flushed yet again. Stiles wondered if he would ever get tired of that—all signs pointed to ‘no’ at the moment.

“In the Camaro?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded, and Stiles’ brain blanked for a minute. Finally he managed to squeak out, “Are you serious?”

Derek nodded again.

Stiles couldn’t contain his excitement. The groan-yell burst out of him, echoing across the now-empty parking lot. “Oh, _fuck_ yes!”

“ _Dad_!”

Stiles groaned as Emilie poked her head out of the open minivan door. He turned, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket yet again, but Derek’s hand gently grabbed Stiles’ shoulder, stopping him. He held out a dollar to Emilie.

“That one was my fault.” He said as Emilie beamed at him, grabbing the dollar greedily and turning back into the van to squeal again with Juliet.

Derek smirked at Stiles, then turned away from the van, leaning over to talk quietly into Stiles’ ear. “Do you make exclamations like that in all areas of your life?”

Stiles’ mouth went dry at the sound of Derek’s voice. It could be innocent, but the way Derek was looking at him was anything but. If there was any doubt at how Derek felt before this, that look erased all of it. It was a look of pure _want_ . Suddenly, Stiles wanted to leap around the parking lot, screaming and pumping his fists into the air. He figured it would lose any cool points he had managed to accrue over the course of the evening, though, so somehow he managed to pull himself together enough to lean toward Derek in return. The front of his shoulder pressed against Derek’s shoulder, their heights nearly equal. Stiles lowered his voice as well, leaning in close. “I assure you, Mr. Hale. I am quite vocal in _all_ of my activities.”

Stiles spared a glance at Derek, just in time to see his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed heavily. Stiles smirked.

“Emilie? Juliet? We’re going to ride in Mr. Hale’s car.”

“Yippee!” Both girls scrambled out of the minivan and dove into the backseat of the Camaro.

Stiles slid into the passenger seat, and tried to contain his groan as he felt the smooth leather beneath his palms. Derek slid in next to him, looking every bit the rock star. But with a tutu.

“Buckle up, girls. You too, Mr. Stilinski.”

“If I can find the seatbelt under all this tulle, then yes, sir.”

Derek huffed an exhale and turned on the car, revving the engine and grinning at the gasp that Stiles couldn’t help but emit.

“You ready for this?” Derek asked. Stiles turned to look at Derek, his breath hitching at the absolutely sinful look he was getting.

“Uh-huh.”

“Hold on tight.” Stiles couldn’t help it. He was excited and nervous and scared and a whole lotta turned on, and so he threw his left hand down onto Derek’s upper thigh and held on tight. Derek’s eyes widened, but a split-second later, he threw the car into gear and squealed the tires, matching the squeals of the girls in the backseat.

 

***********************

 

“See!” Stiles was thrown out of the retelling by Derek’s index finger poking against a ticklish spot on Stiles’ ribcage, causing him to flail wildly.

Stiles and Derek’s legs were tangled together under the sheet that was haphazardly thrown across their waists. Derek’s bicep was acting as the perfect pillow for Stiles’ head—or it had been, before Derek had thrown Stiles out of the memory-retelling with his sneaky tickle-finger.

“What?” Stiles was aghast.

“You _totally_ hit on me first!”

Stiles sat up abruptly, looking down at Derek who was still lying naked beside him. “ _Dude_ . First of all, not fair hitting the ticklish spot.” Derek grinned wickedly, his stupidly-adorable bunny teeth poking out and making Stiles all soft inside. He had to shake himself out of that train of thought before the argument derailed before it had even gotten going. “Secondly, did you even _listen_ to the story? You _obviously_ hit on me first.”

“I didn’t! You grabbed my upper thigh in the car!” Derek stated, as if this was the answer to the entire argument. “I very nearly crashed the damn thing in the process, you surprised me so much.” He crossed his arms and nodded, as if by doing it, his point would be affirmed.

“I literally can’t believe how completely blind you are being right now.”

“ _What_?”

“Somehow in that unbelievably sexy but unequivocally deluded brain of yours, you think that I hit on you first, when _obviously_ it was the other way around.”

“Ha! You wish, loverboy. You grabbed onto my leg and held on like it was a fucking life vest on the Titanic.”

“Yes, that’s true. In my defense, you were revving the engine like you were a NASCAR driver. But again, you’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

“The _point_ is…” Stiles sighed. “The point is…”

Stiles forgot what the point was. Because Derek was running his hand up and down Stiles’ bare chest and giving him _that look_. It was that look that always made Stiles forget. It was the look…

 _The look._ Yes!

Stiles started pointing emphatically at Derek’s face. “The point is _that look right there_!”

“What look?” Derek asked with a knowing grin.

“That _come hither_ look you’re giving me right now. It’s the same look you gave me after I yelled about your Camaro.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, so you did that _way_ before I grabbed your leg,” Stiles argued.

“Yeah, so?”

“Yeah, well you don’t give that look to your grandmother—”

“—she’s dead.”

“—or my father—”

Derek gagged. “—God, I hope not.”

“—or anyone else, for that matter. That’s the patented, Derek Hale, _I wanna fuck you now_ look. And even though I didn’t recognize it then, I know it by heart now.”

Derek started running his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs. “God, I love it when you get all rattled like this. You look fucking adorable.” Stiles’ eyes softened as he looked down. Derek’s hair was rumpled against his pillow, the strands sticking this way and that, the way it always looked after Stiles repeatedly ran his hands through it.

“Language!” Stiles huffed. “And don’t you distract me with your compliments, they won’t work.”

Derek chuckled in response. “They _always_ work, Stiles.”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again for a moment in frustration. “Yes, well...that’s besides the point. We are discussing how it is our 6-month anniversary, and you completely mess up the story anytime anyone asks who made the first move.”

Derek’s hands slid around Stiles’ waist and to his lower back, pulling him down on top of Derek’s chest. Stiles didn’t fight it—using Derek as a pillow was basically one of his favorite things in the world. He stacked his hands under his chin and Derek leaned his head forward and placed a soft kiss on Stiles’ forehead.

“Does it really matter? The point is, whether I hit on you first, or you hit on me first, we still ended up here.”

Stiles sighed, his anger ebbing away as Derek trailed his fingers up and down Stiles’ spine. It really _didn’t_ matter. At the end of that day, they ended up together, eating ice cream and laughing hysterically at Jennifer’s antics (turns out Juliet was an _oops_ baby in a relationship that shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did) and admiring their kids who fit together like peas and carrots. It had lasted long into the night, with their girls asleep on each other in the back seat of the Camaro while the two men talked about Lydia and the accident and Stiles rebuilding his life.

Stiles hadn’t been wrong about that night at ballet being A Moment. He had worried that dating would disrupt the life he had built with Emilie, the life he had constructed and rebuilt from the ashes of his grief. But building a new relationship with Derek had turned out to be a salve on both their souls. They had been getting there on their own, yes. But Derek becoming a part of their lives had only made them get there that much faster. His arrival in their lives served as a healing point.

“We ended up here.” Stiles looked down at the man lying underneath him, his eyes (that Stiles had yet to assign a color for) shining in the morning light that was streaming gently through the blinds. “I love here.”

Derek stared back for a few brief moments, before sliding his hands upwards to cup Stiles’ cheeks. “I love you.” Stiles smiled at the declaration. Derek relaxed threw one hand behind his head for support. “I loved you from the moment you stepped into that class with that rainbow tutu on.”

“I’ve loved you since the first time I saw your eyebrows scrunch at me.”

“You were looking at me like you wanted to _eat_ me!”

“Well, have you seen you? Pretty sure that look hasn’t left my face since then.”

“Well...the feeling was very mutual.”

“Then why’d you look so constipated?”

“I’d never been that immediately attracted to anyone before! I wanted to know everything about you within the span of about two seconds. It caught me off-guard. Plus, the _rainbow tutu_. You seemed so much more confident than me, and I was intimidated.”

Stiles laughed. “Dude, literally no one has ever said I was intimidating before.”

He chuckled and ducked his head down onto Derek’s chest. His voice was muffled as he spoke into it. “The sight of you in that tutu wrecked me that day.” Stiles felt the rumbling in Derek’s chest as he chuckled at the memory.

“Juliet had been telling me about ‘the awesome Mr. Stiles at dance class’ for months. I knew she and Emilie had been scheming.”

Stiles turned his head so his cheek rested on Derek’s chest. “Yeah, they had us together even before we met.”

“Which is why I asked them to help me pick this out.” Stiles heard a strange noise from above him, and raised his head to see an open ring box sitting in Derek’s hand, a simple band on the inside. Stiles’ eyes flew to Derek’s face, searching.

“Stiles Stilinski, I know we’ve only been together six months, but that’s all I need to know that you are exactly what I want. I want to spend the rest of my life arguing with you and laughing with you and raising our girls together with you. Will you marry me?”

Stiles’ mind had been wiped of every thought except one.

_Holy. Shit._

He stared, gaping, at the ring box, and then into the expectant eyes of the man who had just proposed. The man who had made their family complete, who challenged him and supported him and made him want to be a better person.

“Stiles?”

Oops. He didn’t know how long he had been staring. But it must have been long enough to make Derek a little concerned. _That’s what happens when you get to look at a freaking GQ model all the time._ A slow smile broke over Stiles’ face, which was, in turn, mirrored by Derek himself.

“Wait. Is this just so you distract me from the argument? Because I assure you, I’m right.”

Derek flopped the hand with the ring box down onto the bed next to him. “You’re not right, Stiles! You totally hit on me first by grabbing my leg!”

“If you hadn’t given me _that look_ , I never would’ve felt confident enough to grab your leg in the first place!”

There was a moment of silence that followed. Stiles watched a million thoughts fly across Derek’s face at once. Then, a resigned sigh. “ _Fine_. I hit on you first. I knew I couldn’t let you leave that night not being with me, alright? Now will you please answer the question?”

Stiles threw his fist into the air with a shouted “ _Yes!_ ” He looked down with glee at Derek, who was looking back up at him with those damn dimples on display again. _God, I’m the luckiest man on the planet._ He drew Derek’s face into his palms, sliding his fingers through his dark locks, tugging gently.

“And to answer your question. Derek Hale, dancer extraordinaire? Yes, I will marry you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come and talk to me on twitter and tumblr! @im2old4thisotp


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